


The Other Side

by chains_archivist



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bizarre Humor, Boys in Chains, Dark Comedy, M/M, Slaves, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3639282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Madam Hydra</p>
<p>WHAT IF... Dr. J and his four colleagues ruled the world? the Gundam pilots served as the scientists' enforcers? ...OZ was humanity's only hope for freedom? In a grim technocracy, a sinister Council of scientists rules the world with the aid of the military force known as the Preventers and the fearsome weapons called Gundams. Only OZ stands between the Council and the total domination of mankind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).

A world ruled by a Council of five scientists, whose names were lost in the shadows of time and who were now only known only by letters.... 

Over half a century ago, the Council brought peace to a civilization tottering on the brink of self-destruction from endless warfare. Back then, the Council was hailed as the saviors of humanity. Even now, most people still thought of those scientists as the benevolent guardians of mankind.... 

But the kindly facade soon started to crack as the Council began to tighten its grip on the population. Some of their tactics were fairly blatant, such as the heightened presence of the Council's crack paramilitary force known as the Preventers. But the Council was not satisfied with merely developing new weapon technology -- they began to improve the soldiers themselves. First the scientists started with merely modifying natural-born humans. Within the last decade, the Council and its allies were now capable of creating limited numbers of their own custom-made humans -- genetically engineered, lab-bred beings with physical and mental abilities far superior to those of most natural-born people. 

However, the Council's more subtle methods such as the manipulation of communications, industry, and virtually every other aspect of human life proved to be the most dangerous of all. But as the majority of people sank ever deeper in a suffocating mire of complacency, a few brave astute people became aware of the Council's sinister agenda. These people banded together into organizations such as OZ, which were dedicated to the overthrow of the Council. 

The media branded the members of OZ as raving fanatics or bloodthirsty terrorists, but in truth they were freedom fighters trying to save humanity.... 

....and they were losing. 

==================================================================== 

Relena Peacecraft's arrival at the makeshift rebel headquarters went unnoticed for a few minutes as the OZ rebels scurried about with a barely controlled sense of panic. A few yards away, Sally Po finished checking the meager stock of medical supplies rescued from their old headquarters. The doctor wearily straightened and caught sight of the blond teenager quietly standing near the door with Lucrezia Noin hovering behind her. Sally walked over and gave the two young women a tired smile. 

"Relena, thank goodness you arrived safely." 

"Luckily I had Noin with me." The blond took a deep breath and visibly steeled herself before quietly asking, "Sally, have you heard any news about my brother?" 

Sally winced and shook her head. "Sorry. We have no idea where he is. When the Preventer Special forces launched their surprise attack, everything went to hell so quickly...." 

Noin interrupted sharply. "But how on earth did they know where our base was located?" 

The doctor sighed and replied, "It could have been plain bad luck. Or maybe it was carelessness. Or...." 

Relena closed her eyes briefly, then said, "Or we were betrayed." 

Noin slammed her fist down on a packing crate. "Damn it! We've got to do something to root out these traitors!" 

A cool, elegant tenor voice said mildly, "Much easier said than done, Lucrezia." 

The dark-haired woman gave Treize Khushrenada a rueful smile. Even his usual air of cool, steely self-control was starting to wear thin after the traumatic events of the last few hours. 

"I know that, Treize. That damned Council and their spies! They're everywhere! And now Milliard's disappeared!" 

Treize's expression froze for the briefest instant at the reminder of his missing friend. 

Relena said eagerly, "Any news, Treize?" 

"Dorothy's checked her sources. Nothing. For all we know, he could be dead or a prisoner of the Preventers." 

Sally said hastily, "We don't know that for certain. Perhaps he's just hiding until the coast clears." 

Noin bit her lip and muttered, "I hope he's all right...." 

"You're better off hoping that he's dead," snapped a cold, harsh female voice. 

Noin whirled around to face the speaker lurking in the shadows and demanded furiously, "Who the fuck are you!?" 

There was the unmistakable sound of steel rasping over a whetstone as the woman stepped out into the light. Physically, she looked like she was about twenty years old, but the hostile, cynical gleam in her eyes gave the impression of someone much older. Her outfit consisted of baggy camo pants, a dark green tanktop, and lots of weapons. She wore her chin-length curly brown hair tied back with a green headband and across her chest hung a bandoleer of throwing blades. The woman returned Noin's angry glare with a faint smirk as she continued to sharpen a long, nasty looking knife. 

"Where do you get off on saying that Milliard's better off dead!?" Noin shouted. 

The camo-clad woman slammed her knife into its sheath and snarled, "You idiot! Better dead than a prisoner of the Council! After all this time, don't you have any idea what those fucking scientists is capable of!? They can twist a person's mind inside out in no time flat and before you know it, your precious Milliard will be pointing a gun in your face and pulling the trigger!" 

Relena turned white and whispered, "I... I've heard rumors... but I thought that was what they were... just rumors." 

"No rumors, girl. It's a cold hard fact that I learned the hard way," the knife-toting fighter retorted. 

Sally said, "You know from personal experience?" 

The brown-haired woman's lips thinned. She glanced briefly at Treize, then said evenly, "I lost my younger brother that way. You know how the Council's makes every single kid take all sorts tests as they grow up?" 

"Yes." 

"The Council use those tests to find children with exceptional talents. If a child scores high enough, the Council's representatives show up and take him or her away to enroll in a 'special' school. Most parents let those goons take their children away because they think that their kids are getting a headstart into some hotshot government career. The damn morons actually believe the Council's propaganda." 

"And if the parents refuse?" Noin asked. 

"Accidents happen," was the curt response. 

"I see. What does the Council really do with the children?" Relena asked. 

The woman snorted and said, "What really happens is that those poor kids are indoctrinated and brainwashed into becoming useful and loyal minions for the Council." 

Relena glanced at Treize. "Did you know about this?" 

He nodded silently. 

The blond teenager turned back to the camo-clad woman. "You said you lost your younger brother...." 

"Yeah. Our damn parents handed him over to the Council on a silver platter. That was five years ago. A couple of months after he disappeared, I ran away from home to look for him." 

"Did you ever find him?" Noin asked curiously. 

The woman threw her head back and laughed bitterly. "Oh yeah, I certainly found him." The woman actually snarled as she added, "See this?" She lifted her headband to expose a ugly scar running along her right temple. "He nearly blew my damn head off. That was four years ago. And now he's Commander Winner's new PET," she spat. 

"His... pet?" Noin blurted, lifting her eyebrows in an expression of shock. 

"Yea, Winner's prize hunting dog. He's the guy Winner sends out to do his especially dirty work." 

"What?" Relena said with a stunned look. "Commander Quatre Winner? You don't mean the Preventers' Chief of Security!" 

"That's EXACTLY who I mean, Peacecraft. They took my sweet, innocent kid brother who loved animals and music, and in less than a year, they turned him into a soulless killer. From what I've heard, your brother's one hell of a fighter and pilot. The Council won't let that sort of talent go to waste. So believe me when I tell you that you'd better pray that your brother's dead and not captured!" 

Relena gave the other woman a level look. "I'm sorry about what happened to your brother, but Milliard is an adult who knows his own mind. He's not a young, impressionable child!" 

"Age, intelligence, and experience don't do shit to protect someone against the Council's mind-twisting. And if you don't believe me, just ask Treize about what happened to his fiancee Anne!" 

Sally said angrily, "Bloom, that's totally out of line...!" 

Treize raised his hand to halt the doctor's outburst. "Enough." He then turned to the other woman and said evenly, "Catherine...." 

She shrugged with forced nonchalance, aware that she had gone too far, but clearly unwilling to apologize for her remarks. 

Relena shook her head and murmured, "I'm sorry about your brother and your pain, but no matter what happens to Milliard or what they do to him, I won't give up on him. I refuse to lose hope." 

"I don't need your damn pity, Peacecraft!" Catherine flung up her hands in frustration and said, "Fine. Do what you like. See if I care. Just don't expect me to help you when reality turns around and bites you in the ass!" 

As the brown-haired woman turned and started to stalk away, Noin said, "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" 

"Looking for my brother, of course," Catherine snapped over her shoulder. 

"Why? After all you said, are you trying to rescue him?" Relena said in bewilderment. 

 Catherine Bloom halted in midstep, then slowly turned around. She grinned coldly at the Peacecraft before replying. 

"Rescue Trowa? Hell, no. I'm here to kill the murderous bastard." 

==================================================================== 

[ Preventer Headquarters, Interrogation section ] 

As she stared through the glass windows of the control booth, Ensign Hirde Schbeiker realized that she had found Milliard Peacecraft... and she desperately wished she hadn't. 

(Oh hell....) she thought. 

Milliard Peacecraft was in what was euphemistically called a 'conversion cell'. In reality, a conversion cell was basically a sensory deprivation tank surrounded with equipment designed for only one purpose -- the manipulation of the human mind. 

He floated limply in the liquid-filled tank, completely naked except for the wires and tubes attached all over his body. Long platinum blond hair trailed from underneath the metallic hood that completely encased his head. Occasionally the long strands would whip about and swirl as he tossed his head in a feeble gesture of defiance. 

(This isn't good. Now what do I do!? I've got to let Treize know that....) 

"He's a real beauty, isn't he?" a husky voice said cheerfully right behind her back. "For a terrorist, that is." 

"Eeep!" squeaked Hirde as she whirled around. "C-C-Captain Maxwell," she babbled as she hopelessly fumbled her salute. 

The young man, dressed in the black, starkly elegant officer's uniform of the Preventer Special Forces, carelessly flicked his long chestnut braid over his shoulder and gave her a wicked grin. 

"At ease, Ensign Schbeiker. No need to spazz out." 

"Ummm... thank you, Sir." 

He cocked his head slightly and said in a friendly voice, "You're new around here." 

"Yes, Sir! I just got transferred to Preventer Headquarters just last week." 

"I see. You managing okay? This place can be rather unnerving for newcomers." 

She smiled weakly and mumbled, "Um, I'm sorry to say that I still have a tendency to get lost. Which reminds me... I was supposed to deliver these reports to Lady Une." Hirde held a disk and did her best to look harmlessly confused. "Someone told me she was in the Medical section, but I can't seem to find her." 

"Well, at least you're close. This is Interrogation section. Medical is the next corridor. Une's lab down the hall, past the green doors, take a right, third door on the left. Just a word of warning. She doesn't like to be disturbed." 

"Thank you, sir. I'll try my best to avoid bothering her." 

"No problem. See you around," he said cheerfully. 

==================================================================== 

Hirde slowly walked down the hallway. 

(Don't run. Don't run. I've got a perfectly legitimate reason to be here....) 

After rounding a corner, she allowed herself the luxury of a deep sigh of relief. 

(Thank god! I was sure Captain Maxwell was going to grill me about being in the control room. I'm glad he didn't. And he was actually pretty nice to me. I bet that Captain Maxwell's natural-born, not lab-bred. I swear, these genejobs are SO creepy. That Major Yuy, for example. And most of them treat normal humans like absolute dirt....) 

Hirde shivered at the memory of her unfortunate encounter with the infamous Preventer officer and his equally notorious cobalt blue glare, then hurried on her way. She had to complete her errand before she could contact OZ and give them the bad news about Milliard Peacecraft. 

==================================================================== 

"Ensign Schbeiker, eh? Now let's see what sort of mischief this little girl was up to before I arrived on the scene." 

Duo Maxwell, Captain in the Preventer Special Forces and brain-hacker extraordinaire, nibbled absently on the tip of his braid as he checked the settings on the main computer console. Satisfied that the straying ensign hadn't tampered with the controls, he plopped himself into a chair and gazed thoughtfully at the prisoner. 

"She simply got lost? Fat chance. More likely than not, dear Ensign Schbeiker's an OZ spy poking around for information." 

Leaning back into the chair, Duo chuckled and said, "I'm willing to bet that within the hour, Treize Khushrenada is going to know all about the Preventers' new prisoner." He grinned at the captive OZ rebel, his violet eyes gleaming with a dark sort of amusement as he slipped on a headset, then flexed his fingers like a musician preparing to tackle a rather tricky piece on the piano. Duo then snapped his fingers. The air around him lit up with translucent images and Duo's hands began to dance, tapping the floating icons which in turn sent an complex sequence of commands to the equipment hooked up to the prisoner. Almost immediately, the blond man started to tremble and shudder under a new onslaught of images and data. 

"But it won't matter if OZ knows where you are, Milliard, because your mind is already mine. Your mind's mine. Get it? Nope, I guess not. Hey, you should really thank me, you know. A lot of these other guys would have stomped through your brain with hobnail boots and turned you into a drooling zombie. That's fine if they want another poor slob to mop the floors. But not me. A mind's a terrible thing to waste, huh? There's nothing you can do, so you might as well relax and enjoy the experience." 

A few minutes later, the door behind Duo abruptly slid open. Without turning to look around, the braided officer said cheerfully, "Yo, Heero!" 

Major Heero Yuy ignored the casual greeting and turned his attention to the prisoner. As he observed the Peacecraft's feeble attempts to resist the programming that Duo was currently uploading into his brain, Heero heard Duo softly humming his "Happy Happy Joy Joy" song and knew that the braided officer was really enjoying himself. 

Heero finally said, "Why the personal attention?" 

Duo bounced in the chair and said, "Well, after that moron Coltrane screwed up and turned the last rebel we caught into a turnip, the Docs wanted to make sure that nothing goes wrong with this guy." He cocked his head suddenly. "Ah ah ah. Naughty boy, Milliard. Don't think you can get away from me that easily." A graceful flick of a finger initiated an attack routine that quickly broke down the prisoner's resistance. 

"Like I was saying, Heero. The Doc have special plans for this guy which require him to retain all faculties and abilities intact. That's tricky enough with a normal prisoner, but this guy's good. Smart, determined, and stubborn as hell." 

"Afraid you can't do it?" 

Duo grinned, his violet eyes gleaming with predatory joy. "I LOVE a good challenge. But you already missed the good part. I've already won. Poor Milliard just doesn't know it yet." 

"Hn." 

"Bet you can't guess what the Docs are going to do with him." 

Heero merely shrugged. 

"Aw, c'mon. You're no fun!" Duo said with a playful pout as the door opened again. 

A young Chinese man, also in a Preventer officer's uniform, halted in the doorway and muttered, "Maxwell, no one in their right mind would play games with you. You're an absolute nutcase." 

"Glad to see you, too, Wu-man." 

"Don't you have ANY understanding of military protocol, Maxwell?" 

"Sure I do. I understand it perfectly well, my dear CAPTAIN Chang... Wu-man." 

Wufei gave it up as a lost cause. Duo Maxwell was undeniably brilliant, both as a Gundam pilot and as a brain-hacker, not to mention his talents in numerous other areas, but that brilliance came at a heavy price. When he was in one of his manic moods, there was no reasoning with Maxwell. The braided pilot was known to spontaneously jump up onto a table in the officers' mess and start dancing, complete with a full-blown striptease routine. On other occasions, Maxwell could exude a chilling aura of menace which made even Commander Quatre Winner step warily. The only thing any reasonable person could do was grit his teeth and endure in hopes that the mental storm would soon blow over. 

The only person capable of reining Duo in was Heero Yuy and sometimes the cobalt-eyed major had to resort to physical force to do it. Surprisingly, the other Preventers and the Council seemed willing to make extraordinary allowances for Maxwell's antics. Even Wufei had to admit that the braided officer was rather likable despite his considerable eccentricities. More importantly, Duo's mood swings didn't affect his performance, either on or off the battlefield -- he always got results, although his methods of achieving those results could be unorthodox in the extreme. 

Wufei glanced at the platinum-haired prisoner and scowled. He didn't really approved of brain-hacking or other forms of brainwashing. Somehow, it felt rather dishonorable -- almost like cheating -- but that was just a personal quirk of his. He gestured toward the prisoner and asked, "Who's that?" 

"Milliard Peacecraft... high-ranking OZ member, hotshot pilot...." Duo's grin suddenly widened. "And soon to be the newest member of the Preventer Special Forces." 

"What!?" 

"I see you've already told him, Maxwell." Commander Quatre Raberba Winner calmly noted as he entered the control room. As usual, he was silently followed by Lieutenant Trowa Barton. 

Wufei and Heero turned to stare at the head of the Preventers' Security Division. He gave them his usual charmingly benign smile in return. 

"What do you think of our prisoner? Trowa captured him during the recent raid on the OZ headquarters." 

Duo glanced at the slim green-eyed lieutenant standing behind Quatre and said curiously, "So tell me, Trowa. Did Quatre give you a pat on the head and a treat for being a good boy?" 

However grossly insulting Duo's words sounded, something about his tone of voice and his faintly concerned expression indicated that he actually cared about the answer. 

Quatre raised an eyebrow and said mildly, "Yes I did. Don't worry, Duo. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of him." 

Duo glanced at Trowa and received a faint nod of confirmation. Apparently satisfied, the braided pilot said cheerfully, "Oh, I'm sure you are, Quatre, but you can't blame me for checking up on him. After all, it took me over a year of work to put his mind back together into any semblance of normality," as he gestured in Trowa's direction. Giving Quatre a reproachful look, Duo added, "You didn't give me much to work with." 

"That was hardly my fault. I didn't do anything to Trowa. He was like that when he came into my custody." 

"Well, I've got to say that I consider it to be some of my best brain-hacking work." 

"And believe when I say that I fully appreciate your efforts," Quatre replied smoothly. 

Throughout Duo's and Quatre's conversation, Trowa remained still and silent. It didn't seem to bother him in the slightest to be talked about as if he was just another object or possession. Then again, almost nothing could provoke a reaction out of the stoic lieutenant. 

Wufei said irritably, "Now that's out of the way, let's get back to the original subject. What this about the prisoner joining the Preventers?" 

Quatre replied, "When his programming is complete, Milliard Peacecraft will be joining your squad, Captain Chang." 

Before the Chinese officer could object, Duo barged in and said, "Hey, Wufei! While I've got Milliard's brain online, did you want me to make any modifications?" 

"Modifications? What SORTS of modifications?" Wufei asked suspiciously. 

Duo gave the black-haired officer his most innocent look, which instantly put the others on guard. Pointing at a glowing icon to his left, the braided pilot said, "He's already programmed to follow your orders, Wufei. All I'd have to do is upload this hot little sex slave patch into his brain." 

Heero snorted and looked bored, while Quatre bit his lip in an effort to keep from laughing. 

Wufei's cheeks flushed a brilliant red as he bellowed, "What the hell do you expect me to do with a natural-born terrorist sex slave!?" 

"Oh, surely an intelligent person like yourself can think of something, Chang...," Quatre murmured helpfully. 

Wufei glared at the blond commander and snarled, "DON'T ENCOURAGE HIM!" 

"Aw, but just look at him! It would be awful to let that beautiful body go to waste!" Duo said coaxingly. 

"No! No! NO! Absolutely NOT, Maxwell! There's no room for whores in MY unit!" 

The braided pilot pouted and muttered in a miffed voice, "Man, you are such a wet blanket, Wufei." 

Quatre said, "I didn't realize that the Dragon Clan was so old-fashioned about a little recreational sexual activity." 

Wufei snapped, "They're not. It's simply a matter of personal taste, all right?" 

Duo perked up a bit. "Oooh, don't tell me you're a virgin...!" 

"I'm not! My education in that area was quite thorough, as befits the heir of the Dragon Clan!" 

Duo yawned, leaned back into his chair, and said carelessly, "Well, it was only a suggestion. Hey, Quatre! Did you want Milliard to use his old name or are you going to give him a new one?" 

"He'll be starting a new life, so it's only appropriate that he receive a new name." 

"So tell me!" Duo demanded, his eyes alight with curiosity. 

"His new name will be Merquise. Zechs Merquise." 

"Zechs... Zechs!?" Duo blinked, then a positively demented gleam appeared in his eyes. He started off with chuckles, but was soon cackling with hysterical laughter. 

"Maxwell, what the hell's the matter with you?" Wufei demanded with a mixture of annoyance and apprehension as he watched Duo's hands start flashing amid the holographic icons around him. "What are you doing?" 

"Me? Oh, nothing much...." 

The sound of Duo's diabolical little snigger made Heero and Quatre glance worriedly at each other. They knew the warning signs -- Duo was hell-bent on mischief and there probably wasn't any way to stop him. 

"....I'm just putting the sex in Zechs!" Duo said with maniacal cheer as he uploaded the sex slave program file into Milliard Peacecraft's mind before an outraged Wufei could stop him. 

"MAXWELLLL!!!!"


	2. Part 1: The Joy of Zechs

[ Preventer Headquarters ] 

A week after Lieutenant Zechs Merquise made his dramatic debut on the battlefield in the dark red Gundam known as Epyon, Captain Duo Maxwell encountered the newest member of the Preventer Special Forces in the hallway. Without so much as a word, Duo grabbed the ex-terrorist by the arm and dragged him into the Gundam pilots' lounge. 

With an understandably confused look on his face, Zechs said, "Can I do anything for you, sir?" 

Duo smirked as he bounced up and down on his feet. 

"Of course you can. Take your clothes off and bend over."  Zechs blinked and said uncertainly, "I beg... your pardon?" There was something... strangely compelling about Captain Maxwell's voice that filled him with the uncontrollable desire to obey. 

The braided pilot smiled even more and repeated firmly, "I said, 'Take your clothes off and bend over.'" 

"But sir...." 

Duo's violet eyes flashed as he grabbed Zechs by the back of the neck, pulled his head down, and whispered into the taller man's ear. 

"And that's a direct order, lieutenant." 

An odd little quiver ran through Zechs's body, then found himself quickly stripping off his uniform. He bent over the back of one of the sofas, then pulled his ass cheeks apart to give his superior officer better access. 

The vague sense of discomfort, of incompleteness,that had nagged at him ever since he had awakened in the Preventer infirmary suddenly exploded into a storm of raw lust when he felt Duo's hands caressing his naked body. There was no longer any thought of resistance -- the only thing he could think of was complete and total obedience. 

He could feel Maxwell's cock nudging at his rear. Instead of a single swift thrust, the braided officer took his time, easing into him by slow, tormenting fractions of inches. 

He moaned and wiggled, desperate to be filled... to be used... but a sharp, painful squeeze on his balls made him freeze. No words needed to be spoken -- he was to remain still. But finally, after a seeming eternity, Maxwell was completely sheathed within him.... He groaned softly with the sheer pleasure of it all. 

==================================================================== 

The door opened and Commander Quatre Winner, followed by Lieutenant Trowa Barton, entered the lounge. The Chief of Security tipped his head slightly, then said a mildly curious voice, "Why did you ask me up here?" 

Duo grinned impishly and said, "I thought you might like to see this for yourself. And maybe take some pictures?" 

"How thoughtful of you, Duo." Quatre made a slight gesture. Trowa silently pulled out a small video camera and started filming the whole scene, taking care to take several closeups of the impaled Zechs. 

As Quatre poured himself some tea, Duo turned his attention back to Merquise and growled, "I bet it feels really, really good to finally have someone's cock inside you. Doesn't it, Milliard?" 

"M-M-Milliard?" 

"Yes, Milliard Peacecraft," Duo cooed. 

He managed to choke out, "I... don't... know... anyone... called... Milliard... Peacecraft." He gasped for a moment. "My name... is... Merquise... Zechs Merquise... Sir." 

"Are you sure?" Duo said, wiggling his hips provocatively and sending a wave of exquisite sensations through the lieutenant's body. 

"Yes... yes, Sir! I am Zechs Merquise!" A strangled cry of pleasure/pain erupted from his throat when Duo pulled out, then reentered him with one sharp stroke. 

"You liked being fucked, don't you?" 

"Y-Y-Yes, Sir. Absolutely, Sir." 

"What else do you like?" 

"I... I like to please you. Whatever you... you want me... to do, Sir.... Just tell me what you want me to do!" Zechs was dimly aware of the video camera recording his every word, his every expression, but he didn't care.  All that mattered was the overwhelming sensations that Captain Maxwell was forcing him to experience. 

Feeling a slight trickle of wetness from Zechs's penis, Duo said sharply, "You will not come without explicit permission, no matter how badly you need to. Is that clear?" 

"Y-Y-Yes, sir." 

"You want to come, don't you?" 

"Yes, sir!" 

"But you can't." 

"No, sir. I can't... come... without permission." He had been given orders and it was his duty to obey them, no matter how unpleasant or painful. 

"You liked being fucked. By anyone?" 

"No... no, Sir. I... I only like being... fucked... by the people you... and Captain Chang want... to fuck me." 

"So if Wufei and I give a person permission to fuck you, how do you feel?" 

Zechs sighed in near ecstasy. "I love it...." 

"And if anyone else tries to screw you?" Duo purred. 

The platinum-haired pilot tensed, then shuddered in a mixture of fury and disgust at the thought of being violated or even being touched that way by strangers. 

==================================================================== 

Quatre seemed to find the scene before him both fascinating and amusing. Sitting down in a nearby sofa, the commander sipped his tea and said, "Can he do anything else besides acting as a receptacle for someone's penis?" 

Duo burst into laughter. "Oh yeah. He's got lots of useful skills. Wanna try him out?" 

"Hmmm. Why not?" Quatre said with a shrug. 

Without withdrawing from Zechs's ass, Duo effortlessly hauled the naked man around so that Merquise's face was practically buried in Quatre's crotch. But in order to keep his ass properly positioned for Duo's use, Zechs was forced into an awkward partial crouch. That didn't matter. The braided pilot knew Zechs could handle the strain. After all, the man had been modified to withstand the stresses of piloting a Gundam under combat conditions, so standing in a half crouch for a hour shouldn't bother him in the slightest. 

Duo said, "Zechs, I want you to show Commander Quatre just what you can do with your mouth." 

Even as Duo used both his cock and hands to drove him nearly insane with pleasure, Zechs immediately and without hesitation unfastened Quatre's pants and began to give the commander the best blowjob he could possibly manage. 

Trowa diligently continued his task as cameraman. 

Ten rather enjoyable minutes had passed when without warning, Major Heero Yuy marched into the room. He froze for an instant as he took in the sight of Duo enthusiastically fucking Zechs in the ass while the platinum blond lieutenant diligently worked on sucking Quatre's surprisingly large penis. 

After processing this information, Heero glared at the braided officer and barked out, "We have a mission, Duo." 

"Can't it wait? I'm busy at the moment...." 

"NOW." 

"Sheesh! Can't you spare me just a couple of minutes to finish up?" 

Heero sighed impatiently, then stared pointedly at his watch. 

"Fine. You have two minutes." 

"Thank YOU, Major Yuy," Duo muttered sarcastically before he thrust his cock into Zechs's ass with a new sense of urgency. He wouldn't put it past Heero to drag him out of the room as soon as his time was up, regardless of whether he had come or not. 

The braided pilot made it with just under a minute to spare. 

Heero couldn't help but appreciate the look of wanton abandonment on Duo's face as the braided officer tossed his head back in pure ecstasy as the orgasm took him. He wouldn't have minded watching for a little longer. Unfortunately, both of them had a mission to complete. Precisely at the end of the two minutes, Heero testily eyed the faintly panting Duo, who was contentedly running his fingers along Zechs's spine. The Wing pilot snapped, "Now that you're finished, put your penis back in your pants and let's go." 

"Yeah yeah yeah...," Duo muttered as he hastily straightened up and got dressed. He was still getting dressed when Heero shoved him out of the room. As they left, Duo waved at Quatre and yelled exuberantly, "Have fun!!!" before disappearing into the hallway. 

An instant later, Duo popped back into view and added, "But not TOO much fun!" 

Quatre leisurely waved the other pilot on his way and murmured, "Of course I will." 

Before the door could fully close, Duo reappeared in the doorway a second time and said in mock-stern tones, "And don't break him... OWWW!!!" The braided pilot's words broke off in a sharp yelp of pain as he was forceably yanked out of sight. 

The blond commander chuckled softly, then turned his gaze toward Zechs, who was lavishing attention on the very tip of his penis. Quatre glanced up at the impassive brown-haired lieutenant standing nearby and smiled slowly. 

"Trowa, why don't you take Duo's place?" 

The Heavyarms pilot silently put down the video camera, unfastened his pants and slid his cock into Zechs with one smooth thrust without preamble. The renewed invasion in his rear and the sensation of Trowa's hands stroking his penis and testicles combined to wring a soft gasp from Zechs, but it didn't distract him from the main task before him -- pleasuring Commander Winner with his mouth. 

Quatre spread his legs a bit wider to give Zechs better access to his groin, then settled back comfortably against the sofa cushions so he could concentrate on watching Trowa as the brown-haired pilot continued to thrust into Zechs almost mechanically, without any apparent change in his impassive expression. 

==================================================================== 

Captain Wufei Chang hastily stepped aside as Heero stalked down the corridor with Duo in tow -- literally, since the dark-haired major had a very firm grip on the other officer's braid. 

As they whisked by him, Duo yelled, "Yo, Wufei! Zechs is in the officer's lounge. I think he has something to show you...!" And with those rather cryptic words, Yuy and Maxwell disappeared around a corner. 

"Something to show me?" 

Wufei frowned a moment before continuing down the hallway with his usual purposeful stride. His mind was now distracted with thoughts of Zechs Merquise. At first he had been worried that his new subordinate would be a hopelessly sex-crazed maniac due to Maxwell's tampering. Such a person would be of precious little use as a warrior. But so far, Zechs had been a model officer and pilot -- intelligent, observant, obedient, and possessing just the right balance of caution and aggression. 

The Chinese pilot found it rather amusing that in the few short weeks since the ex-terrorist had joined the Preventers, Zechs and Heero had developed a rather intense professional rivalry. During training sessions with their Gundams, both pilots were constantly trying to outdo the other. At the moment, against Zechs, both he and Heero were winning about three times out of four, but Zechs was definitely improving as the ex-terrorist became more familiar with Epyon's formidable capabilities. 

(I never thought that a natural-born human, even with all those modifications, could be skilled enough to present a challenge to myself and Yuy. It'll be interesting to see how Zechs does against Maxwell or Winner....) 

Wufei frowned. He still thought that the braided officer was too valuable to risk on the battlefield. 

(There's no denying that he's a superb pilot, but we've got plenty of talented combat pilots. However, I could count on one hand the number of people who have anything near Maxwell's skill at brain-hacking and interrogation. He's not readily replaceable.) 

He and other concerned persons had even suggested that Maxwell be taken off the active combat roster. However, that suggestion has been politely, but unequivocally refused. The only explanation that he had received was something about the braided pilot needing a certain level of stimulation for maximum performance and stability. 

In short, they didn't want Maxwell to get bored out of his mind. 

(Well, considering how erratic Duo's behavior can be right now, I would hate to see the type of chaos he's capable of creating if he gets bored!) 

That train of thought led him back to Maxwell's latest antic, namely the gratuitous and totally unnecessary modification of Zechs Merquise. 

(Maybe Maxwell was simply bluffing with this whole sex slave thing. It would be just like him to pull a stupid joke like that....) 

Wufei opened the door to the Gundam pilots' lounge and abruptly found out that Duo Maxwell had NOT been bluffing at all. 

==================================================================== 

In the Gundams' hanger area, Duo unexpectedly pinned Heero against Deathscythe's leg and gave him a long, saliva-swapping kiss to the poorly hidden amusement of the other male and female pilots in their squad. 

As soon as the kiss ended, Heero said drily, "You can screw around with Zechs when we get back from the mission." 

"Wufei might not let me! He can be SO selfish with his toys!" Duo said with a pout. 

"Then you shouldn't have told him to check up on what Zechs was doing," Heero said with his usual, coldly pragmatic attitude. 

"Well, ever since Meiran got killed by those OZ goons, I think Wufei's been feeling a bit lonely. The guy lives and breathes for hunting down the terrorist scum, as he likes to put it. But god, that guy really needs to relax! He needs something to kick him out of his boring old rut...." 

Faster than any cobra, Heero had his hand on Duo's throat. The Wing pilot could pulverize a normal human's neck in an instant and even break the spine of lab-born humans with a bit more effort. But Duo continued to grin, apparently indifferent to the threat of pain or injury. 

Heero said softly, "You're a strong believer in recreational sex, aren't you Duo? First you went after me, then you managed to hook Trowa up with Quatre, and now you're aiming to do the same between Wufei and Zechs." 

"Hell, I guess I'm just a regular fucking Cupid, huh?" Duo retorted with a careless shrug. 

Heero allowed his hand to slowly slide away from Duo's throat, letting his fingers brush the braided pilot's silken skin like a subtle caress. 

"Idiot." 

==================================================================== 

"What the hell's going on!?" roared an extremely annoyed Wufei. 

Zechs's eyes widened and he instinctively flinched at the sound of his commanding officer's angry voice. However, Quatre had no intention of allowing the lieutenant to stop. The commander's slender fingers tightened painfully on Zechs's platinum blond hair and forced his head back down toward his genitals. 

"I think it's quite obvious what's going on, Chang," Quatre said with an air of cool amusement. 

"I don't mean that!" 

"Then what do you mean?" came the commander's patient reply. 

"I want to know what YOU and Barton are doing with MY subordinate!" 

"Since you haven't shown any interest in taking advantage of Zechs's non-combat talents, Maxwell thought it was about time that someone tried out his other skills." 

"Maxwell, too!?" Wufei exclaimed. 

Quatre nodded with a faint smile, then added firmly, "You might have priority on Zechs's use, but please don't complain if others decide to take advantage of a resource that you refuse to exploit." 

And throughout this conversation, Zechs kept sucking on Quatre's cock in rhythm with Trowa's steady, methodical thrusts deep into his ass. 

Quatre turned to Trowa and gave his green-eyed subordinate a surprisingly indulgent smile. 

"Come for me. Now." 

Trowa blinked and gasped sharply as an electric current seemed to course through his body. His impassive facade shattered, the pilot shuddered uncontrollably as he climaxed in Zechs. 

As the Heavyarms pilot sagged slightly, his hands leaving white, bloodless imprints on Zechs's hips, Quatre cooed gently, "Again." 

The brown-haired young man arched his back, helpless in the throes of ecstasy. 

By now Quatre himself was breathing a bit heavily under the skillful caresses of Zechs's mouth, but the security commander seemed almost oblivious to his own approaching orgasm as he continued to stare at Trowa. 

"And again." 

Trowa's mouth now gaped open as he gasped soundlessly for air. He shook his head faintly, as if trying to resist the sensations flooding his body. 

"Again," spoke Quatre in sweet, merciless tones. 

"Please...," the Heavyarms pilot whispered in a husky, barely used voice. 

Wufei began to fume visibly with impatience as the strange exchange between Quatre and Trowa continued, but he had enough sense not to interrupt. 

Quatre's hand clamped down on Zechs's head, forcing him to stay still. In a firm voice, the commander said, "Trowa, you know what I want to hear from you." 

There was a long silence before the brown-haired pilot choked out a single word. 

"....Stop...." 

Quatre smiled slowly, then briefly turned his attention to the man crouching between his legs. He tightened his grip on the fine platinum hair, and said crisply, "Finish it." 

"Yes, sir," Zechs panted, before returned to his task with redoubled intensity. But even as he came in Merquise's mouth, Quatre kept his gaze fixed on the still dazed Trowa, who was slowly recovering from the recent overwhelming bout of pleasure. 

By this time, Wufei starting to pace impatiently around the lounge. 

As Quatre allowed Zechs to lick him clean, the commander said, "A very respectable performance, Lieutenant." 

"My pleasure to serve you, sir," the Epyon pilot said with all apparent sincerity as he knelt on the floor. 

The Chinese pilot abruptly stopped his pacing and snapped, "If you're QUITE through, Winner...." 

Quatre rose to his feet. With Trowa nearly back to his usual impassive demeanor, the security commander gestured casually to the still kneeling Zechs and said, "He's all yours, Chang." 

"Why, how gracious of you," Wufei shot back in a voice brimming with sarcasm. 

Pausing in the doorway, Quatre said, "By the way, I do believe that the lieutenant's under strict orders not to come without permission. So it's entirely up to you whether to reward him or punish him for what happened here." 

The door to the lounge slid shut behind Quatre and Trowa, leaving Wufei along with the naked Zechs, whose massive erection and taut expression clearly displayed his state of acute discomfort. 

Wufei scowled, then grabbed a hold of Zechs's chin and pulled his head up. 

"Well, what should I do with you?" 

"Anything you wish, sir." 

With a raised eyebrow, the captain said skeptically, "Anything?" 

"Anything, sir. You are my commanding officer. It's my duty to obey your orders to the best of my ability." 

"And you don't mind?" 

Zechs blinked his blue eyes in mild confusion. "Why should I mind, sir?" 

"Do you LIKE being used like a convenient sex toy for anyone who outranks you?" 

The pony-tailed pilot was startled by the sheer beauty of Zechs's smile as the lieutenant replied, "I enjoy being used very much, Captain. But begging your pardon, Sir. Only you and Captain Duo have authority to give me such orders to provide sexual services." 

"Well, THAT'S a relief, I suppose. At least I won't have to worry you getting sidetracked by horny upper echelon officers." 

"No, sir. That would prevent me from performing my other duties." 

Wufei looked a little bemused by Zechs's placid response. Try as he might, he couldn't see any trace of resentment, disgust, or anger in the blond man's gaze. 

(Well, I think I've totally underestimated Maxwell's skill,) Wufei thought rather ruefully. He then noticed that Zechs still had a raging hard-on. 

(Oh well, this whole episode was hardly his fault, so there's no reason to make him suffer for it.) 

With a vague gesture, Wufei said, "Bring yourself off." 

Zechs visibly hesitated. 

"Is there a problem? You CAN masturbate, can't you?" 

"Yes, sir... but if you would please excuse my extreme presumption...." 

Wufei frowned slightly, but said, "Go on." 

"I would greatly appreciate it if you...." Zechs blushed furiously before continuing. "If you would... fuck me, sir." 

Wufei opened his mouth to give the lieutenant a scathing reprimand, but suddenly changed his mind. Why was he making such a big deal out of the whole thing anyway? Zechs was practically begging to be used... and he had to admit that the blond was probably one of the most beautiful and attractive men he'd ever seen.... 

It had been a long time since he had really enjoyed himself in this fashion... ever since Meiran's mobile suit troop had been ambushed and destroyed by OZ. 

Even as this thought crossed his mind, he realized that he was already unfastening his pants. As Zechs bent over to allow his commanding officer easy access to his ass, Wufei shrugged and decided to just go with the flow.... 

==================================================================== 

As they walked back to Security, Quatre idly inquired, "Where's the recording of Zechs?" 

Trowa silently handed a video disc to his superior. 

As Quatre turned it over in his fingers, he murmured, "I think that Treize Khushrenada would find these images rather interesting. Who knows, he may even find them exciting." 

The slender blond commander's lips curved upward in a brilliant smile, then he began to laugh softly. 

==================================================================== 

[ temporary OZ headquarters ] 

Relena finally found Catherine Bloom in the rickety warehouse that served as the garage. Fortunately, most of the OZ mobile suits had been away from the main base when the Preventers attacked. It was one of the few bits of good luck going for their side. Unlike the Preventers, who had both equipment and men to spare, OZ's resources were limited and that made each mobile suit doubly precious. 

Catherine finished packing her gear, then looked up to find Relena watching her. She scowled as she took in the knapsack over Relena's shoulder and her dark clothing. 

"What the hell are you doing dressed up like that?" 

"You're headed into the city... and sneaking your way into the Preventer headquarters, right?" 

"Yeah." 

Relena took a deep breath and said, "I'm going with you." 

Catherine swore and yelled, "NO FRIGGIN' WAY!" 

"Oh yes I am. You need me...." 

"The last thing I need is to have a spoiled, inexperienced teenaged brat hanging on my heels!" 

The Peacecraft stiffened and said coldly, "I may be a teenager, but I'm hardly inexperienced." 

Bloom gave her a highly skeptical look. "Oh sure...." 

Relena marched up to Catherine until they were almost standing nose to nose. 

"Get a grip on that lone she-wolf attitude and listen to someone else for a change! You may have lost your brother and your boyfriend, but practically everyone in OZ has lost someone they care about! I'm sorry for your pain, but that doesn't give you any excuse to stomp all over everyone else's feelings and treat them like dirt! My family has been fighting the Council since before my mother was born! My grandparents, my parents, my uncle Darlian, my cousins.... practically every other person in my family has DIED in this struggle. Now there's only Milliard and myself left...." 

Catherine was startled by Relena's sudden verbal attack, but quickly got a grip on herself. She tossed her head and said snidely, "So what do you plan to do at Preventer HQ? If you think that you're going to risk my neck on some crazy scheme to rescue your brother...." 

Relena lifted her chin and said coldly, "I won't deny that if I get a chance to get my brother back, I'll take it. However, I've got a more important mission to take care of." 

"Which is?" 

"I'll tell you on the way." 

The brown-haired woman frowned dubiously.  "So... you say you can take of yourself?" 

In a single fluid motion, Relena dropped her knapsack, pulled a silenced pistol from apparently nowhere, and quickly fired five shots at a heavy wooden post located at the far end of the garage, a distance of well over 25 meters. The resulting cluster of bulletholes could easily be covered by an inch-wide data disc. 

"Got any more surprises?" 

Relena then turned to the other woman and said evenly, "I know when to fight and when to run. I can pilot a mobile suit. I'm very good with computers. My entire life has been spent getting ready to take my place in this war. You can stop worrying about me and concentrate on the mission." 

Catherine stared at the post for a few seconds, then finally shrugged. 

"Fine. We go in together. Once we're inside, I'll stay out of your way and you stay out of mine. Got a Preventer uniform that fits?" 

As she reloaded her gun, Relena nudged her backpack with her foot. 

Catherine gave her a sour smile, then said, "Okay, then. Let's get going."


	3. Part 2: What's Love Got to Do With It?

[ Preventer Headquarters ] 

Entering his inner office, Commander Quatre Winner sat down, turned the video disc of Zechs Merquise's sex acts over in his slender fingers a few times, then tossed it lightly on upon his desk.  Gazing pensively at the green-eyed lieutenant standing motionless before him, the blond commander said gently, "See, it's not that hard, Trowa." 

Since his superior officer was clearly waiting for a verbal response, Lieutenant Trowa Barton obediently gave him one. 

"Yes, Sir." The voice was flat, devoid of emotion. 

"All you had to do is ask me to stop." 

"Yes, Sir." 

Quatre leaned back into his big, black leather covered chair. "Now whether I choose to stop -- or not -- that's an entirely different matter, of course." 

"Yes, Sir." 

Quatre's lips quirked upward. "Is that all you have to say, Lieutenant Barton?" 

"Yes, Sir." The response took an instant longer this time. 

The blond recognized the blank, shuttered gaze that made Trowa Barton's eyes look like orbs of dull, cloudy glass. It was a familiar response \-- whenever Quatre managed to force a reaction from him, Trowa would reflexively withdraw, retreating behind his mental walls. 

Quatre was not about to let that happen. 

Responding to a small beckoning gesture, Trowa circled the desk to stand right beside his commander. 

Quatre stretched out his hand and lightly stroked Trowa's rear, then suddenly pressed hard into the cleft between Trowa's buttocks. His fingers encountered the buttplug he had placed in Trowa just that morning. A small shudder rippled through Trowa's slender frame as his body responded, as it always did, to Quatre's skillful stroking of the intrusive device. 

"Doesn't that feel good?" 

After a brief hesitation, Trowa answered, "Yes, sir," with a faintest trace of a quiver in his voice. 

Apparently not satisfied with the lieutenant's response, Quatre intensified his manipulations, being sure to also lightly caress Trowa's genitals through the taut fabric of his uniform pants. The brown-haired pilot's breathing grew faster and harsher. Soon, Trowa was panting softly, his eyes glazed and his cheeks were flushed from the ruthless stimulation. 

"Do you like how I make you feel?" Quatre inquired gently. 

The blond's smile widened just a bit as Trowa's green eyes darkened, a clear sign of some internal conflict. Something deep within the Heavyarms pilot resisted giving an answer, unwilling to concede that Quatre had the power to make him feel anything at all. But Trowa's extensive conditioning, combined with painful prior experience, would not permit him to lie to his commanding officer. The same conditioning prevented the green-eyed pilot from active disobedience. 

Winner waited patiently. Finally, Trowa blinked and whispered hoarsely, "I... I don't... know." His voice trailed off as he fought to remain on his feet and keep his knees from buckling.  "If you're not sure, then why don't you sit over there on the sofa and think about it carefully," Quatre replied in the same sweet, gentle tone that he usually used when dealing with Trowa. But before the lieutenant moved away from Quatre, the commander reached out and activated the buttplug. The device forced another strangled gasp out of Trowa as it started to vibrate and throb inside him in a carefully calculated rhythm. Quatre knew that even simple motions like walking across the room and sitting down would magnify the sensations generated by the buttplug. After all, he had deliberately designed it that way. 

Ever since the brown-haired soldier has been assigned to him, Quatre had made sure that Trowa's ass was always filled, either by Quatre himself or by one of the numerous sexual devices that the blond had designed just for the green-eyed pilot. They came in a wide assortment in shapes, sizes, textures, and movement, providing a near endless variety of stimulus, which in turn ensured that Trowa never had the opportunity to get used to the devices. 

Often, Quatre didn't have to activate the plugs or even touch them. The mere presence of the devices -- the gentle, inescapable friction and pressure they caused whenever Trowa moved, piloted his Gundam, or even simply breathed \-- served as a constant and unforgettable reminder of just *who* Trowa Barton belonged to. 

He watched as Trowa sat on the sofa, quite motionless. At the moment, the Heavyarms pilot was successfully suppressing his urge to squirm, but it would be a losing battle. The acutely pleasurable sensations would steadily increase in intensity as time passed. The only question is whether Trowa would break down and admit that he enjoyed the pleasure Quatre gave him, or whether the lieutenant would pass out first. 

As Quatre split his attention between editing the video of Zechs prior to delivery to Treize Khushrenada and observing Trowa's struggle to remain impassive, he thought, (You may be very good at ignoring pain, Trowa, but you can't ignore the pleasure, can you? I won't let you hide from me. You're mine and I won't tolerate you shutting me out.) 

Trowa's hands now had a white-knuckled grip on his thighs as his breathing became heavier. 

Quatre said absently, "Are you still thinking about it?" 

"Yes... sir." 

"Very carefully?" 

"Y-Yes, sir." Trowa's voice shook noticeably. 

(As if he's capable of thinking of anything else except the pleasure he's feeling,) the blond thought with a satisfied smile. In a normal person, the stimulation would have been overwhelming enough, but Duo Maxwell's alterations ensured that Trowa would be exceptionally sensitive to any physical sensations that Quatre might induce. Nevertheless, Trowa was still subtly resisting him by declining to answer his question. Quatre briefly considered boosting the buttplug's setting, but decided against it. 

He was willing to be patient. Time and all the weapons were on his side. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to hurt Trowa like so many others had done. 

As he continued to watch his subordinate's now trembling body, Quatre's thoughts drifted back to his first encounter with the young man known as Trowa Barton. 

==================================================================== 

[ Preventer Headquarters, approximately one year ago ] 

No one knew exactly what set Ensign Trowa Barton off that day in the cafeteria. Perhaps it was that the collar of his full dress uniform was too tight. Perhaps it was the endless rounds of lewd remarks and near-threats from his fellow squad members. Perhaps it was the way his commanding officer, Captain Cohen, fondled him underneath the table. Whatever it was, it made the young ensign totally snap. 

Lieutenant Commander Quatre was walking by the cafeteria when chaos erupted. There were a series of loud crashes, the sound of breaking furniture, the smack of flesh hitting hard surfaces with possibly lethal force, and mingled voices screaming in anger, pain, and in one case, unmitigated fear. 

Quatre entered the cafeteria to see what he initially thought was a small riot in progress. A second glance told him that all the commotion resulted from a disorganized attempt to restrain one man -- a young brown-haired mobile suit pilot who seemed to have gone totally berserk with rage. The target of most of that rage was an obviously terrified captain and a group of other mobile suit pilots. They were all frantically attempting to get as far away from the berserk pilot as possible, but their attacker was merciless and swift. 

As he watched the brown-haired pilot toss other, interfering soldiers aside with almost contemptuous ease, Quatre came to realize three simple things. 

First, the berserk pilot was significantly stronger and faster than the other mobile suit pilots in the cafeteria. 

Second, the obviously insane pilot was the most graceful and beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

And third, he, Quatre Raberba Winner, one of the finest products of the famed Winner family biolabs, really *wanted* that pilot for himself. 

At that moment, the security police thundered into the cafeteria. Before they could leap into the fight in order to subdue the berserk ensign, Quatre stopped them in their tracks with a single gesture. 

"No." 

The leader of the security guards glanced uncertainly at her superior and cautiously inquired about the lieutenant commander's orders. Quatre's response was simple, but firm. 

"Stand by. I'll handle this matter myself." 

"By yourself?" exclaimed the startled security sergeant, staring at the slim, almost fragile-looking blond teenager standing before her. 

Quatre retaliated with an icy stare which instantly caused the sergeant to choke back her instinctive objections, then returned his attention to the continuing brawl. 

Throughout the fight, green eyes a-blaze with madness, the crazed pilot had been shrieking almost nonstop -- a constant primal scream of rage and fury -- as he relentlessly chased down and attempted to pound the other mobile suit pilots into a bloody pulp. The captain of that squad squirmed free of the milling mob and tried to flee the scene. 

"Sergeant, detain that officer and the other members of his mobile suit unit. Leave the lunatic to me." 

"Yes, sir!" the security trooper said, saluting smartly. 

Quatre reached up, loosened the high-necked collar of his uniform, then stepped forward to confront the deranged pilot. As he approached, the blond officer caught a glimpse of the other's name tag, which read "Ensign Trowa Barton". 

(Trowa.) Quatre repeated the name over in his mind a few times, savouring it as if it was a delicious treat tasted for the first time. Then, seeing no point in trying to talk any sense into the obviously crazed Barton, Quatre attacked without warning. 

The lieutenant commander's ferociously swift kick slammed Trowa Barton into the wall. Any normal human would have probably suffered broken bones, but Trowa merely shook his head, scrambled to his feet, and blindly lunged for his new assailant. 

Even though he was expecting such a response, the speed of Trowa's movement were still startling. Quatre slipped aside at the last second, and used the other's momentum to fling the maddened pilot into a support beam as the other Preventers hastily scrambled out of the way of Barton's flying body. 

The impact, which probably would have knocked even a modified human unconscious, merely left Barton mildly dazed and did nothing to deter the pilot from trying to tear Quatre limb from limb. 

Evading yet another mad charge, Quatre thought, (He's nearly as strong as Yuy and almost as fast as Maxwell. I can't tell how much of that is normal and how much of it is adrenaline-driven frenzy, but I'm now certain this pilot's probably been given a Class G upgrade, the type that allows a person to fully exploit a Gundam's capabilities. But that level of modification is strictly prohibited without explicit authorization from the Council itself....) 

That level of physical enhancement made Barton an extremely dangerous opponent -- witness the way he swatted the other Preventers away like flies -- but that also meant that Quatre did not have to hold back in fear of accidentally killing or permanently damaging him. 

The ensuing fight left the audience silent in both awe and fear. Barton picked up a heavy table and flung it across the large cafeteria as if it was a mere twig. Quatre leapt into the air to avoid a wild swing and on his way down landed a punishing kick to Barton's shoulder that sent him staggering. If the ensign had been even semi-rational, perhaps the outcome of the battle would have been more doubtful. However, in his present state, the berserk pilot was no match for the cool-headed Quatre. Sometimes the maddened pilot succeeded with his wild attacks, but most of the time, Quatre dodged or blocked the ferocious blows without too much difficulty. The blond patiently waited for the right opening that he knew would inevitably occur. 

Barton overextended himself in a futile attempt to smash Quatre's head open with a metal bar ripped out of a column. Instead of dodging away, the blond slid under the swing, landed a vicious snap kick to Trowa's groin, then as the pilot crumpled forward, Quatre grabbed him by the neck and arm. He pivoted sharply as he heaved the still struggling Trowa high into the air, then slammed the pilot with precisely calculated force onto the floor. 

Trowa Barton hit the ground, made a last futile grab for Quatre, then went limp. 

Quatre stared down at his now unconscious opponent. His ribs ached, his mouth was bleeding, and his uniform was torn... but he felt better than he had for many months. 

He wiped the blood from his mouth and smiled at his dumbfounded audience. To a person, they all looked away and nervously shuffled their feet, unwilling or unable to meet Quatre's searing blue gaze. 

==================================================================== 

Captain Duo Maxwell wandered into the lab and found Quatre, accompanied by two hulking Maganacs and a gagged, heavily restrained prisoner. He gave the wildly struggling brown-haired captive a curious look, then turned to Quatre. 

"What's up? Your message sounded urgent." The braided officer took a step and peered closely at Quatre's face. Although the bruises and swelling were already fading, they were still plain enough to Duo's discerning eyes. 

"You look like you've been in a fist fight! Are you okay?" 

Quatre shrugged indifferently. "It's nothing serious. I got slightly injured subduing him," pointing at his thrashing prisoner. 

Judging from the trouble that the heavily muscled Maganacs were having keeping the straitjacketed and shackled prisoner under control, and knowing Quatre's fighting abilities, it was obvious to Duo that the brown-haired pilot was no ordinary soldier. 

"So what gives?" 

Quatre said, "This is Ensign Trowa Barton, assigned to a squad of mobile suit pilots under the command of a Captain Cohen. From some unknown reason, Ensign Barton went berserk and attempted to kill both his captain and his fellow squad mates." 

"O-kay. So what is he doing here in my lab? If he's attacking his colleagues and his superiors, you've got plenty of reasons for immediate termination." 

"Because...." The blond hesitated uncharacteristically, then said, "Because I want to know if you can determine what's wrong with Barton and... fix him." 

"Um... fix him?" 

Quatre sighed. "Yes, fix him so he's no longer out of control." 

"Why on earth do you want me to do that?" 

"First of all, I'm fairly certain that he's been modified to a Class G level. I need to know how and why. Barton might be able to give me some answers. Second, from what I saw today and after checking his records, Barton is an exceptional pilot. I don't like wasting such obviously useful talent. And third...." Quatre fell silent. 

Duo cocked his head slightly and gave the blond a pensive stare, then he blink and muttered, almost in astonishment, "And third, you don't WANT to terminate him." 

Quatre gritted his teeth. 

The braided pilot started to chuckle. "You really don't want him killed, do you? Somehow, he's gotten to you!" 

The lieutenant commander said in an irritable voice, "Think what you like. What I want to know is whether you can bring him under control." 

Duo put his hands on Quatre's shoulders and leaned forward. "Hell, for you, I'll give it my best shot!" Turning to the Maganacs, he said, "Have the techs next door prepare him for a brain-dive." 

As Trowa was dragged away, Duo said, "Gimme a hour or two to check him out. But just by looking at him, I'd say that the poor guy's a real mess." 

"Tell me something I don't already know," Quatre retorted. 

==================================================================== 

Two hours later, Quatre entered the control room linked to the conversion cell containing Trowa Barton's limp body. Duo sat crosslegged in the main chair, surrounded by a cloud of holographic icons and symbols. 

"Here." Duo casually tossed a small packet to Quatre. Upon examination, the blond observed that it contained a small microchip with a few electrodes dangling from it. 

"What's this?" 

"THAT is part of the reason our Ensign Barton went totally gaga." 

Quatre frowned. "It looks like some sort of neurostimulator chip." 

"That's exactly what it is. I found it hooked into the pain center of Barton's brain. Your security guys found the controller in Captain Cohen's pocket. Rather crude device. The jerk probably got it on the black market." 

Duo shook his head in aggravation before continuing. "You're right about his level of modification. His physical ratings are damn close to ours. Which explains the pain controller...." 

Quatre's eyes narrowed. "I don't quite follow." 

Duo leaned back in his chair and drawled. "People subjected to Class G modifications are resistant to normal forms of conditioning." 

"So he would have been able to resist the standard programming that most Preventers cadets receive." Pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place for Quatre. 

"Exactly. So Captain Cohen must have cooked up this stupid scheme of using the pain implant to keep this guy under control. I bet having a pilot of Barton's abilities really jacked up Cohen's performance ratings." 

"Indeed. That's part of the reason the squad was here, to receive a commendation. So he hurt Barton...." 

"In more ways than one." 

Quatre said in an ominously even voice, "Explain." 

"Here." Duo tossed Quatre a headset. "It's easier for me to show you." 

Slipping on the headset, the blond officer could now see what Duo saw. Even to his relatively inexperienced eyes, Trowa Barton's mindscape looked like a disaster area. 

Duo pointed at some particularly devastated areas of Barton's mind. 

"Well, judging from the extensive neurological damage, I'd say that Cohen left that pain implant constantly activated on low power, not to mention he probably enjoyed giving Barton's brain high-powered zaps on a pretty damn frequent basis. And see those whopping big areas of scarring? Characteristic of gross sexual and emotional abuse. I bet Cohen and those other bozos were constantly using this poor guy as their private fucktoy." 

Duo started to fume angrily. "Barton's got some real talent -- he's smart and bloody competent. When his conditioning started to break down, that idiot captain of his should have gotten a professional to fix the damn problem! Besides, any half-decent brain-hacker could have made Barton perfectly happy to fuck all his buddies! But nooooo... Cohen decided to handle it himself and look what the idiot did to him!" 

He flung up his hands and yelled, "I hate amateurs! I REALLY hate incompetent morons! AND I HATE INCOMPETENT AMATEUR MORONS MOST OF ALL!!!" 

As Quatre tuned out Duo's continued ranting and raving, an icy cold anger began to grow deep inside the blond Arab. 

After letting off a little more steam, Duo finally calmed down and muttered, "With all that shit, it was only a question of time before Barton totally cracked up. It's a miracle that he remained functional for so long." 

Quatre took a deep breath, then said tersely, "All right. Trowa's severely damaged. I knew that much. My question is whether you can do anything about it." 

Duo rocked back and forth, nibbling on a fingernail. Finally, he gave Quatre a sly look, then said, "That sort of depends." 

"Depends on what?" 

The braided officer replied, "It depends on exactly what you want from him." 

"Meaning?" 

Duo grinned cryptically. "Heh. Do you going to be satisfied with mere obedience or are you looking for something more?" 

Quatre looked thoughtful. "Go on." 

"If all you want is an obedient little drone, that's real easy. All I have to do is purge Barton's mind and rebuild a new one. In less than a week, you'll have one hell of a good subordinate who will obey your every little wish, worship the very ground you walk on, be totally and utterly in love with you, and begging to satisfy your every sexual desire." 

From the expression on Quatre's face, the prospect didn't have the slightest attraction for him. 

"I already have people like that." 

"So you'll have another one." Duo shrugged. "Never hurts to have a new slave. The only thing is that if I do that, he'll definitely be useless as a Gundam pilot." 

"And the other choice?" 

"That's a lot trickier, but the reward probably will be worth the trouble. I can stabilize Barton's mind, smooth out some of the worst damage, that sort of thing. And then it's all up to you." 

"Me? Why me? Isn't this sort of task your responsibility?" 

"Usually... but in this case, I think it would be better for everyone if you did it." Duo tipped the chair back and added, "You see, ignoring that little brawl in the cafeteria, it looks like Cohen succeeded in totally breaking Barton's will. The bozo's methods were crude, clumsy, and downright barbaric, but I can't deny they're pretty effective." 

"You said that it 'looks like' he succeeded. From your words, I assume that appearances are not correct." 

"You got it." Duo gestured at the chaotic images of Barton's mindscape."Somewhere in all that shit, the fire... the inner spark that makes Trowa Barton special still burns. You know I'm right, Quatre. During that fight with him, I bet you sensed something about him, something that instantly grabbed your attention and drew you to him. Otherwise, you probably would have shot him on the spot." 

"Yes, you're right," Quatre murmured softly. 

Duo leaned forward and said earnestly, "If you want him operating at his full potential... if you want him to be more than just another boring ass-kissing slave, you've got to reach the real Trowa and make him your own. For his sake AND yours." 

The blond officer frowned slightly and asked, "My sake? What does this have to do with my welfare?" 

"Because in the last few weeks, I've had a feeling that you were... bored. You seemed to be looking for something, but never quite finding it." 

"I wasn't aware that my... feelings... were so obvious," Quatre said tersely. 

Duo patted his fellow pilot's leg and said, "Take it easy. I've got a gift for noticing these sorts of things. I'm pretty sure no one else knows or even suspects." 

"That's a relief, I suppose." 

The braided pilot grinned impudently. "You see, I sort of consider it my unofficial job to keep you guys from flaking out." 

"Guys? I assume you're referring to myself and the other Gundam pilots." 

"Yup. Quatre, your problem is that your brain tends to run on overdrive, so it's hardly any surprise that you tend to get bored, just like Heero tends to get stressed out really easily." 

Quatre raised an eyebrow and murmured, "And your solution to these... problems?" 

"Oh, with Heero, it was pretty easy. He just needed a way to work off tension, one that didn't have anything to do with missions or duty." 

"Ah. Well, that explains why you started having sex with him." 

"Hell, it seems to be working just fine. Surely you've noticed that he's gotten more laidback recently. And his combat performance hasn't suffered. In fact, I think he's even improved a bit." Duo cocked his head thoughtfully. "I'd fuck you too, if I thought that it would solve your problem, but I know that I can't give you want you need." 

Quatre chuckled and said, "Is sex your answer to everything?" 

"Hey, don't knock it! It's good stress relief. Besides, you might not believe it, but there's a difference between sticking your cock into just any convenient body's orifice, willing or not, and having sex with a special person." 

"You almost sound like a romantic, Duo." 

"Who knows, maybe I am," came the braided pilot's cheeky retort, sticking out his tongue. 

Shaking his head, Quatre said, "All right. What do you suggest I do and how does Barton fit in?" 

"You need a challenge, something that will keep you busy for a while. Something difficult. How about getting someone to love you?" 

Quatre raised a cynical eyebrow. 

"Not worship you, but LOVE you," Duo added with decided emphasis. 

"Love." Quatre almost snorted. "That's easy enough to program into someone. Even I can do it." 

"Ah, but that would take away all the fun! It's so much more interesting if you really have to work at it." 

"And you think that Trowa will provide me with a suitable challenge?" 

"Oh, he's perfect for you. Barton may be severely damaged, but it's my informed opinion that he's still capable of falling in love. You've already got control of his body. After Cohen's conditioning and after some judicious tweaking from me, Barton will carry out your every command. But his mind, that's an entirely different story. That's still up for grabs." 

A slow smile grew on Quatre's face. "I'm beginning to see what you meant about reaching the real Trowa Barton. If I handle this properly...." 

"He'll be all yours. Body, mind, and soul. It won't be easy, but...." 

Thinking back to those brief moments in the cafeteria, remembering the fire and passion in Trowa's eyes, Quatre said, "But not boring. And definitely worth the effort." He turned to gaze down at the slender, brown-haired body in the tank and said thoughtfully, "As for the best method to use...." 

Duo shrugged. "Well, he's been hurt, abused, degraded, and all that sort of shit already. He's used to that type of treatment. And it obviously didn't work to truly break his spirit." 

"So what are you suggesting? That I take the kinder, gentler approach?" Quatre asked with an air of bemusement. 

In the most pompous voice imaginable, Duo intoned, "The rule for waging war is to avoid strengths and strike at weaknesses -- Sun Tzu." 

 The blond shook his head in mild exasperation. "I *know* that." 

"Then the answer should be perfectly obvious." 

"Yes, it is, but that still leaves the question of discipline. Granted that I want to avoid hurting Barton as much as possible, I still need a way to punish him if necessary." 

Duo said quite emphatically, "Physical pain is a definite no-no. You see, in a normal pain response, there is a deterrence threshold -- a point at which the pain is sufficient to make the person change his behavior in order to make the pain stop -- and a critical tolerance threshold. Below the deterrence threshold, a person can ignore the pain. Exceed the critical tolerance threshold and the person either goes into catastrophic mental withdrawal or, as in Barton's case, he goes berserk. 

"Unfortunately, with all the scarring in his pain centers, Barton's response to physical pain is totally out of whack. He's got no deterrence threshold at all. Either he's going to just ignore the pain...." 

"Or he goes wild," Quatre said 

"Basically." 

"All right. What does that leave?" 

Duo shrugged carelessly. "Well, simple physical pain may be out, but there are plenty of other things that can cause a person a hell of a lot of discomfort. Anxiety, fear, guilt... you get the idea. Probably not fear, though. That's too strong, too intense. There might be some wierd cross-reactions. You need something more subtle. Probably something like guilt." 

"Guilt. A remorseful awareness of having done something wrong," Quatre recited blandly. 

"Bingo!" 

"I'm not personally familiar with the sensation of guilt." 

"Well, it can be as unpleasant as pain and fear. More so to some people." 

"Ah. All right. I'll leave it up to you. After all, this is your area of expertise." 

Duo grinned and said, "Cool." But as Quatre turned to leave, the braided officer added, "Just a suggestion, though. Take it easy on the punishment bit, okay? It's probably better to let Barton get away with a few minor infractions than to discipline him too much.  As for major league stuff...," Duo shrugged, "well, you gotta do what you gotta do." 

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." 

"Oh, that reminds me. What about that bastard Cohen and his posse?" 

Quatre gave Duo a kindly smile that had the braided pilot bouncing in anticipation, then the blond clearly outlined what he had in mind for ex-captain Cohen and Barton's former squad mates. 

==================================================================== 

[ Preventer HQ, Medical section, two weeks later ] 

As Trowa Barton dimly became aware of fingers gently touching his cheek, he realized that there was something was different. 

Several moments passed as his brain gradually began to clear, then his eyes flew open and found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling as he suddenly figured out what was missing. 

The horrible, gnawing pain that had pervaded his life for so long was gone. And perhaps for the first time in years, he didn't hurt... anywhere. 

A soft voice said, "I'm glad you're finally awake, Ensign Barton." 

Trowa shifted his gaze downward and saw a slim, blond Preventer officer standing at his bedside. Why would a lieutenant commander of security be watching over him? 

More memories slowly surfaced -- the arrival at Preventer Headquarters, a meaningless series of conferences, lunch in the cafeteria.... 

"Captain Cohen...," he whispered hoarsely. 

The blond officer held up a small packet. Trowa couldn't repress a shudder as he recognized the device. Cohen had shown him pictures of the neurostimulator chip often enough. 

As if reading his thoughts, the lieutenant commander said gently, "Yes, this is the chip that was implanted in your brain. And no, it will never hurt you again. As for Cohen or those other pilots in your squad, you're quite safe from them." 

The blond officer gently stroked his cheek, and said, "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. And I take care of what's mine." 

==================================================================== 

Several days after Trowa Barton's awakening, a sharp jolt of pain jerked Cohen out of his restless slumber. He found himself shackled, arms and legs outspread, to a wall. And standing in front of him were the instantly recognizable figures of Lieutenant Commander Winner and Captain Maxwell. 

"W-W-Wha?" Cohen mumbled. He felt very strange. His brain seemed both foggy and crystal clear. 

In a cold, stern voice, the blond officer said, "You have been arrested and summarily court-martialed for conspiracy, embezzlement, falsification of records, lying to your superior officers, gross abuse and misuse of Preventer resources, and general incompetence. Your subordinates have been charged as accessories to your crimes. All were found guilty. A termination order has been issued for you and your squad." 

"Termination!? No!!! Wait a second...!" 

"However, that termination order has been suspended and the guilty parties have been remanded to my personal custody." 

Cohen, already dangerously pale, went chalk-white as Captain Maxwell started to snigger. 

Commander Winner held up two small items and said softly, "Do you recognize this items?" 

From his noisy swallow, it was obvious that Cohen instantly knew what they were -- specifically, the pain-inducing microchip he had implanted in Ensign Barton and its control device which he, Cohen, had always kept within convenient reach. 

As the prisoner stuttered and started to babble out excuses, Quatre's icy blue eyes narrowed ominously. 

"Normally, someone found guilty of your crimes would have been immediately executed. However, I've decided on a much more fitting punishment for you. You see, I am perfectly aware of what you did to Ensign Barton." 

"No... you don't mean... you can't!!!" 

Quatre continued, "Captain Maxwell has implanted a neurostimulater chip into your brain, Cohen. However, our chip is considerably more sophisticated than the one you used on Barton. Maxwell?" 

The braided officer grinned and lightly tapped the small control device in his hand. 

Cohen started to convulse and scream as agony poured through his brain. 

As Duo hummed a happy little tune, Quatre waited for Cohen's sobs and moans to diminish somewhat, then jerked the prisoner's head up. 

"I am also very much aware of how you and your subordinates repeatedly used and abused Barton as your private sex toy." 

Duo grinned in anticipation. When Quatre's voice softened to a low purr, it was a sure sign that the blond officer was starting to lose it. 

Cohen blurted, "It wasn't like that! So he fought a bit at first. You people should know that new guys always need some breaking in! But it was all a game! I know he liked it rough and painful!" 

"Then you had better hope that you're also one of those people who like their sex rough and painful, because that's the way it's going to be for the rest of your miserable existence. Captain Maxwell has been telling me that sex is an important form of stress relief, so I've decided to hand you over to my Maganacs so they can use you as their personal... what was that term you liked to describe Barton?" 

Duo broke in helpfully, "I think he really liked calling Trowa 'his cheap little fuckdoll'." 

"Thank you, Duo. Cohen, you are going to be the Maganacs's personal fuckdoll, to use or punish as they please. As for the rest of your subordinates, I've arranged for them to be permanently employed in Headquarter's recreation center. They'll be spending the rest of their lives servicing their fellow soldiers." 

"This isn't real... a nightmare... a damn nightmare!" 

Quatre said smoothly, "If it's a nightmare, then it's one you helped create. An eye for an eye. It's a very simple, but very old principle." 

Duo cooed malevolently, "Think about it, Cohen. Forty hulking, muscle-bound goons, all hung like stallions and as horny as hell. Let me tell you that you're going to be one popular boy! But don't worry. No matter how much it hurts, all that usage won't cause any permanent damage. I made very sure your body can take it." The braided officer leaned even closer, his violet eyes gleaming with wild excitement. 

"Not only that, but you're going to find out that you WANT to be used. You're going to want it so badly that you're going to be constantly begging to be fucked. You're going to feel like total shit unless someone's shoving their cock up your ass or into your mouth. After all, isn't that what you claim Trowa wanted?" 

"No... no... please... have mercy... stop...." Cohen's voice trailed off in a sick moan as his body's and mind's new cravings started to make themselves known. His gaze was irresistably drawn to Quatre's and Duo's groins, tantalizingly outlined by the snug uniform pants of their uniforms. 

Duo tipped his head and said pensively, "I wonder how many times Trowa said the very same thing to you... and how many times you refused." 

Quatre snapped his fingers and the leader of the Maganacs entered the cell. The blond took Cohen's control device from Duo's hand, then casually tossed it in the Maganac's direction. 

"Rashid. He's all yours. Do with him as you please, as long as you don't kill him." 

"Thank YOU very much, Master Quatre." 

The blond shrugged. "Consider it a gift for your good work." As he and Duo left the cell, Quatre paused in the doorway and said, "In fact, all your men will have 24 hours of leave. Enjoy yourselves." 

"Yes, Master Quatre!" 

As mingled sounds of pain and begging escaped into the hallway, Duo turned to Quatre and asked, "Are you going to tell Trowa about Cohen?" 

"I... don't think so. Not yet. I want him to get comfortable with me and his new surroundings first." Quatre halted in the hallway and said, "Duo, I'd like to thank you for what you've done. You went far beyond the requirements of duty." 

Duo tossed his head and smiled brightly. 

"Hey, no problem! We Gundam pilots need to stick together, ya know? And that Cohen jerk really pissed me off. I would have taken care of him even if you hadn't asked." 

The blond chuckled and said, "Duo, you can be such an utter bastard at times." 

Duo's grin widened. With a wink, he said, "Of course I am! After all, I was designed that way!" 

==================================================================== 

[ Preventer Headquarters, the present ] 

Trowa sat in the office, watching his superior officer work on his little 'gift' for Khushrenada. It would be an unmistakable message, one that said too clearly, "See what the Council and the Preventers have done to one of your greatest hopes." 

Milliard Peacecraft is no more. There only existed Zechs Merquise, loyal Gundam pilot. 

Gundams, symbols of the Council's overwhelming power.... 

....Gundam Wing, the pale angel who wielded the energies of destruction.... ....Gundam Deathscythe, the swift grim reaper who loomed without warning out of the smoke and fog.... ....Gundam Shenlong, the dragon warrior who scoured its prey from existence with flaming breath and blade.... ....Gundam Epyon, the newest of them all, a blood red beast lashing his searing whip across the battlefield.... ....Gundam Sandrock, the watchful guardian, scimitars poised to destroy whoever dares to cross its path.... ....and finally himself, Gundam Heavyarms, the animate weapon who spewed forth an unrelenting hail of metal and explosive fire on its victims. 

Gundams, the dread enforcers of the Council's will.... There were only six now, but there would soon be more Gundams... more tools for the five scientists who essentially ruled the known human-inhabited universe. 

Tools.... 

Long time ago, he had been something more than just a tool or object to be used. Long ago, he been important for himself and not what he could do. But he couldn't remember... there had been someone... a warm presence, the ring of a girl's laughter.... 

Maybe they were just deranged fantasies. Perhaps he had always been a tool and nothing more.  Why did he try so hard to pretend otherwise? Why did he fight so hard to deny it? Why struggle so much to keep his supposed soul alive? Tools don't have souls -- tools merely function. That's their only purpose for existence. Why did he ache for more? 

After two years under Cohen's hellish tutelage, his body had learned the brutal lesson of total obedience. However, a part of him still refused to surrender, refused to give his superior officer the satisfaction of totally breaking him. 

Unable to end his own misery himself, he had learned to endure through all the torments, pain, and suffering inflicted on him. Chained and shackled to his captain's every whim, he patiently waited for a chance to die. He knew that day would come. A man like Cohen would always manage to push things too far. 

The chance he had waited for arrived a year ago, in the cafeteria in the middle of Preventer Headquarters. Something cracked and gave him a few brief moments of freedom. He still couldn't kill himself, but he done his best to ensure that others would. He had deliberately fed the fury and the rage, hoping that someone would deliberately or accidentally terminate him and end it all. 

Escape had seemed so close.... 

But when he awoke, he had found that he had simply moved to a bigger, more comfortable prison. And the warden of that prison was none other than the infamous and feared Lieutenant Commander Winner. 

Quatre Raberba Winner. 

Angel? Devil? 

Perhaps he was both. 

Quatre had taken the pain away and protected him from the abuse of others. But that relief was not without its own terrible cost. 

He thought that he had succeeded in making himself numb to all the torments this hell called life could inflict upon him. He had thought his walls were perfect, that the separation of body and mind/soul were complete... that nothing had the ability to truly touch him any more. But every day... every hour... every single breath he took reminded him that he was wrong. The barriers that sufficed to keep his other tormentors at bay did nothing to stop Quatre from reaching him... making him feel. Just as wind and water gradually but inexorably shaped the hardest of stones, Quatre delicately, but relentlessly, pried away at the walls that had protected him for so long. 

(He's already inside my body, and now he's slowly working his way into my mind... my heart... my soul. No. I can't let him succeed....) 

But even more insidious than the pleasure Quatre made him feel, was the inescapable sense that at least part of the commander's kindness and gentleness was genuine and not just some vicious, calculated psychological tactic. 

(I can't help thinking that consciously or not, Quatre really cares about me... just a little.) 

Or was he deluding himself? Had his instinct for the truth been subverted and twisted, like so many other parts of himself? He knew all too well what Captain Maxwell were capable of. Milliard Peacecraft was a perfect example. There was simply no way to know which thoughts were truly his own and which thoughts were programmed into him. 

And the thought of what Maxwell and Quatre could accomplish if they worked in concert truly terrified him.... 

==================================================================== 

"Trowa, bring me that OZ file from next door." Quatre pointed to the neighboring room. 

The helplessly aroused lieutenant silently obeyed. While Trowa's walk would have appeared quite normal to the uninformed observer, Quatre could easily see that the other pilot was not moving with his usual graceful ease. 

(You're really starting to feel it, now, aren't you, Trowa? Good.) 

When Trowa returned, Quatre allowed to him sit for just a moment, then sent him off to bring in some fresh tea. He kept the Heavyarms pilot moving, never giving him the opportunity to settle down and get used to the plug's stimulation. The final task involved picking up a stack of data disks that Quatre had 'accidentally' knocked to the floor. The erotic sensations caused by the device filling Trowa's ass were undoubtedly intensified as he was forced to repeatedly bend and squat down to retrieve the disks scattered around the room. Quatre felt a pleasant warmth in his own genitals as he watched Trowa briefly close his eyes, lose his balance, then grab a side table to keep from falling. By the time Trowa collected all the disks and placed them in a neat pile on Quatre's desk, he was visibly swaying on his feet. 

The commander gave him a concerned look and said, "Are you uncomfortable, Trowa? Sit down back down on the sofa and I'll see if I can make you feel better." 

(No. No more. Please.) The thoughts drifted like smoke through Trowa's mind. But he didn't dare say a word. Even so small an admission of Quatre's power was not acceptable. If he could have, he would have run far away, but his body was too well trained to disobey such a clear and explicit command. 

Quatre joined Trowa on the sofa. For a moment, he simply stared up into the other's face, then gently brushed the long bang of brown hair aside so he could get a better look. In a sharp contrast to the Heavyarms pilot's previously dull, indifferent gaze, Quatre could see confusion, apprehension, and perhaps traces of some other, less clearly defined emotions in Trowa's pleasure-glazed emerald eyes. 

Satisfied, the blond slipped his hand inside Trowa's tunic and gently massaged his nipples. There were no sharp pinches or twists like so many others had given him -- just a steady rhythm of both light strokes and firm caresses which synchronized perfectly with the throbbing of the buttplug inside him. The brown-haired pilot shook in response, but clenched his jaws in an effort to remain silent. 

The blond snuggled closer and purred softly as he sensed his quarry's growing weakness. Then, with a light pat of a finger, he boosted the buttplug's output to near maximum. 

Caught totally unprepared, Trowa spasmed, his back arching, both mouth and eyes wide in a silent scream. His slender fingers clutched at and tore through the sofa fabric. The pounding waves of ecstasy left Trowa unaware that Quatre had repeated his original question. 

"Do you like how I make you feel?" 

As Trowa Barton passed out from the sheer force of his climax, he was unaware that he had nodded in response to Quatre's softly voiced question... unaware that he had surrendered another small bit of himself to his new master.


	4. Part 3: (still a rough draft)

During the bone-jarring jeep ride, Relena ruefully observed that Catherine drove the way she did apparently everything else in life -- full speed ahead and to hell with anything that dared to get in the way. 

"Where are we going?" 

"To meet my contact and pick up the truck. We're going to enter Preventer HQ as cargo drivers. Once inside, another contact's going to provide us with IDs and uniforms so we can move around a bit more freely. After that, we split up to do our own thing," Catherine replied. 

"All right." 

Half an hour later, they reached the outskirts of an industrial park. Catherine slowed down, then came to a halt behind a large, darkened warehouse. 

"Looks like no one's here." 

One of the large loading doors began to roll up with surprisingly little noise. 

After driving inside, the door closed and a blindingly bright light shone directly down on them. Catherine said, "Stay seated and don't move until I say so. I was supposed to be alone, so it's no wonder that Nate wants to look us over." 

They waited a bit, then other lights went on, illuminating the cavernous interior of the building. Hopping out of the vehicle, Catherine called out, "Hey, Nate! Get out here!" 

Relena watched as a person emerged from the shadows, carrying a pistol in one hand. The armed stranger was a young, slender, short-haired woman of Asian ancestry. As she walked into view with a decided limp, Relena was startled to see several distinct scars on the woman's bare arms, chest, and neck. With the state of modern medical technology, such obvious scarring was highly unusual. The marks hinted at the severity of the woman's injuries \-- she was lucky to have survived. But it was curious that the woman chose to bear the scars instead of getting them cosmetically removed. 

"Relena Peacecraft, this is my friend Nate. She's going to provide the truck we'll be driving." 

"Pleased to meet you," Relena said with a small smile. 

Nate stared at her with dark, wary eyes, then nodded politely in acknowledgement. Turning back to Catherine, she smiled slightly and said, "The truck's been loaded, but I need to verify that the tags and serial numbers are in order. A few more minutes and you'll be ready to go." 

"Thanks a lot. I couldn't have managed this without you or your contacts." 

Nate smiled coldly, "Anything to help you and OZ, Catherine." 

As the two women waited for the last finishing touches to be made on the truck, Relena murmured, "That's the first time I've heard you call someone a friend." 

Catherine glanced at Relena and said thoughtfully, "Well, in a weird sort of way, Nate and I are sorta like sisters. We've both had someone we loved stolen from us. I don't mean killed. I mean brainwashed, reprogrammed... remade. I told you before about my brother Trowa." 

"And who did Nate lose... excuse me, that's none of my business." 

"I know about your brother, Peacecraft. Your curiosity is understandable," Nate said calmly as she limped toward them. "Since you asked, I lost my beloved husband. His father and the family elders demanded my death as a test of his loyalty. My husband refused. To save face, his father used psychological coercion to ensure that his son would obediently provide the elders with whatever proof they required. Through pure luck, I survived my husband's attempt on my life." Nate gestured at her own body. "However, as you can see, I did not escape unscathed." 

Relena's eyes widened. "Psychological coercion? You mean your father-in-law brainwashed his own SON into trying to kill you!?" 

Nate nodded curtly. 

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened to your husband? And does he know you're alive?" Relena didn't push for a name or more specifics. If Nate wanted her to know, the scarred woman would have told her. 

"No, he doesn't know I still live. You see, like Catherine's brother \-- perhaps like your own brother -- my husband has now become a loyal member of the Preventers and obedient servant of the Council and its allies." 

"That's... absolutely sickening!" muttered Relena, gritting her teeth angrily. 

Nate's voice was cold and flat. "Quite. It is also unforgivable." 

"So you joined OZ because of this...." 

"Call it an alliance of convenience, Peacecraft. My father-in-law and the elders may be out of my immediate reach, but in injuring their ally the Council, I also injure my true enemy. If the Council falls, so will my enemy. I shall have justice for the wrongs done to me, my husband, and the unborn child I lost." 

Nate took a deep breath and visibly shook off her dark mood. Handing her friend several data cards, the scarred woman said, "Catherine, all the documentation's been taken care of. You can depart whenever you're ready." 

Catherine nodded and said, "You're sure that the cargo and the truck can't be traced back to you?" 

"Positive." 

"Great." Catherine shook hands with Nate. "Take care of yourself." 

"I should be saying that to you. After all, you are the ones walking into the monsters' lair." 

As Relena moved to follow Catherine to the truck, Nate put a hand on the blond's shoulder and said softly, "I wish you well, Relena Peacecraft. For your sake, I hope your brother has not suffered my husband's fate. At least death is final. But what happened to Catherine's brother and my husband... it's like a wound that bleeds forever and never heals." 

Relena whispered, "Thank you." 

They exchanged nods, then Nate disappeared into the depths of the warehouse. Catching up with Catherine, the two women hastily changed into their driver uniforms and started up the truck. 

As they drove away into the night, Relena said pensively, "What an interesting woman." 

"She definitely is." 

"Her nickname doesn't seem suit her at all. There's something about her that reminds me of a steel blade. A uncompromising fierceness...." 

"You got that feeling, too, huh? From what I gather, she was raised in a rather militaristic family. Way of the warrior and all that." Catherine shrugged, "As for the nickname....." 

"Nate, short for Natalie?" 

"Nope. Short for Nataku." 

==================================================================== 

As she watched the truck disappear down the road, Nataku, once known as Chang Meiran and formerly an elite mobile suit pilot for the Dragon Clan, reached up and touched the small pouch that never left her neck. Inside the pouch was the cockpit recording from her mobile suit. Contained in the recording was the truth of that fateful day when her world shattered. 

The truth... and her husband's last words to her.... 

She did not need the recording to remember. Those events were irrevocably etched in her memories... memories of her friends being cut to pieces or incinerated alive... memories of standing alone, staring in utter disbelief at the terrible opponent before her. 

Her knuckles turned white as her grip tightened on the pouch. 

She would never forget the sight of the Gundam Shenlong charging toward her, beam glaive poised to slice her and her mobile suit in two. And even now, she could hear Wufei's tormented screams echoing in her ears. 

==================================================================== 

As they drove off into the night, Catherine glanced over at the pensive Relena and commented neutrally, "You seemed awfully insistent about getting into Preventer headquarters ASAP." 

The Peacecraft frowned slightly, but seem to think twice about answering. 

Catherine said, "I'm not asking for details. I have no intention of getting captured alive, but if things go wrong and I get interrogated...." She shrugged. "At least you'll have a chance." 

"Yes. That's probably best," Relena responded quietly. "But I think I should tell you this much. I'm on a mission to retrieve something vitally important, so I may need to pull out at any moment. I won't be able to wait for you." 

The brunette terrorist seemed unfazed by the warning. "That's fine. You do your job and I'll do mine. But I bloody well hope that whatever you're 'retrieving' is worth risking a Peacecraft's precious neck." 

"I hope so, too," Relena said with a sigh. 

The other woman suddenly reached out to grab Relena's upper arm and squeezed as hard as she could. After a few seconds, she released her grip. 

"You've got a full combat upgrade, haven't you? I can tell by your muscle density, Relena." 

Rubbing her arm, the blond retorted, "Look who's talking. You have some enhancements yourself." 

With a toss of her head, Catherine said, "Sure. I've got steroids for more muscle, drugs to boost stamina, gene-modified bacteria to speed up reflex time and improve my vision, that sort of thing. Anyone who's going up against the Preventers needs every advantage they can beg, steal, or borrow. But those enhancements are only temporary, not to mention that the degree of improvement is pretty limited. Your case is different. You've been permanently and I'm guess pretty extensively modified." 

Relena shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet Catherine's gaze. Finally, she reluctantly said, "Yes, both Milliard and myself." 

"With best bio-enhancement technology and doctors in the hands of the Council and its allies, how the hell did you manage to get that done? We're not talking about a few quick injections or some back room operation here! You need a major lab setup, not to mention plenty of expertise to do it right." 

"We have connections with the right people. I told you that our family has been dedicated ourselves to destroying the Council for generations. And if it means becoming a little less human to do it... well, sometimes risks have to be taken and sacrifices made," Relena said, staring down at her finely boned hand. "I had a choice. I could have refused. But just like you said.... When fighting opponents as dangerous as the Preventers and the Council, you have to grab every advantage you can, regardless of the cost." 

Catherine stared out the windshield at the roadway and the surrounding darkness. Eventually she said, "You're braver than I gave you credit for, Relena." 

"Thanks." 

==================================================================== 

Relena suspected that those words were about as close to an apology as she would ever get from Catherine. As they headed down the brightly lit expressway, she thought about her upcoming mission. It was perfectly true that she was going to Preventer headquarters to pick up something, but she hadn't told Catherine what was truly at stake -- the complete blueprints to the Preventers' new orbital battlestation, codenamed 'Libra', not to mention detailed information for a new, potentially devastating weapon system being developed by several of the Council's scientists. 

(How ironic that the Preventers should call their new weapon of terror 'Libra', a name associated with the scales of justice.) 

Their informant, known only as 'Janus', had offered the blueprints and weapon data on the sole condition that Relena personally handle the mission. Naturally everyone suspected that the whole thing was a trap, but after prolonged discussion between herself, Treize, and Dorothy, they all agreed she had to take the risk. It was a huge gamble, but one with an immensely valuable payoff. Although contact with Janus was erratic, the information provided had always proven to be highly reliable. After all, it had been Janus's last minute warning of an impeding Preventer attack which had allowed OZ to save over half of its mobile suit force and equipment. 

As for Janus's identity, no one had any clue who Janus could be. There was no doubt that Janus was highly placed in the Preventers or the Council's scientific division, but that was all that could be deduced. 

(Just as well. If we in OZ don't know, then there's no chance that a Preventer spy will find out Janus's identity, either.) 

==================================================================== 

[ Preventer HQ, Research & Development section ] 

Her glasses glinting in the bright lab lights, Lady Une smiled faintly to herself as she glanced at the monitor. Although a casual observer would have considered her expression cold and decidedly sinister, the scientist felt a distinct surge of satisfaction as she watched the Gundams, with their attending squads of Mobile Suits, preparing for their new mission. Much of what she saw was a result of her hard work. She had been instrumental in the Council's various bio-modification and gene-engineering programs, but she was best known for her work in developing pilots who were capable of exploiting a Gundam's full potential. 

In a strange way, all of the existing lab-born Gundam pilots could be considered her children -- she had personally supervised the creation of each pilot -- but she took particular pleasure in one very special specimen. His exceptional abilities and talents weren't the only reasons for her pride. No, she had much more personal, secretive reasons.... 

Her smile warmed almost imperceptibly as she observed Duo's mischievous attempt to give Heero a quick wedgie before dashing off toward his waiting Deathscythe. As she watched the braided pilot cheerfully joking with his men, Lady Une absently began to stroke her flat stomach and a distant, deeply buried voice in her mind lovingly whispered a single name. 

{....Treize....} 

Her introspective mood was broken by the sound of loudly approaching footsteps. By the time the newcomer stepped into view, any hint of softness or sentiment had vanished from Une's demeanor. 

A tall, thin man with buzz-cut dark hair stalked into the room. He scowled thunderously as he noticed the Mobile Suits and Gundams being prepped for battle. 

"Having a bad day, Ferrar?" Une inquired, her lips curling upward in an icy little smile. "Still having problems with the target acquisition system for your Mobile Dolls?" 

He transferred his glare to his main competitor and snapped, "It's nothing serious, Une. A minor bug in the software code. Easily remedied." 

"What was it last week? A problem with sensor integration? That was also a 'minor' software problem, I believe." 

Ferrar bared his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. "I'm astonished that you take such an interest in my work." 

She pushed her glasses up her nose with a slender finger. "Of course I'm interested in your Mobile Doll project. After all, you've been boasting far and wide that your wholly automated Dolls will eliminate any need for human pilots and render the current generation of Mobile Suits and Gundams completely obsolete." 

"That's no boast, but simple fact!" Ferrar bellowed, pounding his fist on a nearby tabletop. 

"Do forgive me," Une purred politely. "But it certainly appears that while the theory is certainly plausible, you're having significant problems with implementation." 

"It's only a matter of time before I succeed! Imperfect humans will give way to perfect machines, no matter how many obstacles you or my other rivals throw in my way!" 

She looked mildly astonished. "You think that *I'm* responsible for all your problems? 'It's all a conspiracy!' A remarkably convenient excuse for your noticeable lack of progress." 

"It's no excuse! People like you are constantly working against me!" 

Une sniffed contemptuously. "Now you're sounding decidedly paranoid. You blame all your problems on others, but have you ever considered that *you* could be part of the problem? 

His dark eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean by that?" 

Lady Une shrugged eloquently and replied, "Perhaps you're simply looking for an excuse to fail." 

"That's ridiculous!" 

"Is it? I wonder. Perhaps deep inside, you're a little afraid of success, of making humans obsolete. If you can replace humans in the battlefield, what next? After all, you're a human being, too." She eyed him thoughtfully. "Well, at least you're human in a biological sense." 

"Are you saying that I'm afraid of my *own* creations!?" Ferrar looked both infuriated and oddly shaken. 

She smirked slightly and made an airy, dismissive gesture. "It's just a pet theory of mine. Feel free to ignore it." 

Her tone turned decidedly dangerous. "But don't blame me for all your problems, Ferrar. I've got much more important things to do than think up ways to make your life difficult. Besides, you seem to be doing an excellent job of doing that all by yourself. If you suspect sabotage, then I suggest you look within your own research team for the culprit." 

==================================================================== 

[ western coast of South America, Andes Mountain range ] 

As Deathscythe stalked through the shattered remains of a grubby shanty town that had once been packed full of indigents and refugees, Captain Duo Maxwell was not happy. Someone had majorly fucked up and that person was going to pay. 

"Shit, these scum breed like mice!" an irritated female pilot complained as she kicked apart a small rickety hovel. Nearly thirty people, over half of them children, screaming wildly in terror as they scattered in all directions in a frantic effort to escape the falling wreckage. 

Other Mobile Suits were doing much the same thing as they rummaged through the area, casually ripping apart hastily slapped together buildings, as the poor outcasts and refugees who called the shanty town home scurried back and forth in mindless panic. 

Duo snarled, "Report!" as Deathscythe stomped on a scrawny teenager who had dared to attack the Gundam with a scrap metal bar. 

"No sign of resistance equipment or activity, sir. Just lots of scared street rats," a senior pilot reported. "Should we keep looking?" 

The braided pilot bared his teeth in frustration. "Rip this place apart and confirm that finding." 

A half hour later, there wasn't a single structure standing in the entire camp. Dead bodies and injured people littered the area, mostly the result of debris carelessly tossed aside by the searching Mobile Suits. In various spots, fires had broken out from overturned cooking stoves or heaters. 

One of the Mobile Suit pilots sniffed in contempt and muttered, "Well, that was a fucking waste of time. Respectfully speaking, Sir." 

A nearby colleague switched to a private channel and whispered to his squadmate, "Uh oh, Shinigami wants blood. And he's going to get it, one way or another." 

The other pilot chuckled and whispered back, "This will be fun to watch." 

==================================================================== 

The ground troops waited nervously as Deathscythe and Wing stalked over toward them, followed by the rest of their respective mobile suit squads. For a nervewracking moment, it looked as if the two Gundams was about to walk right over the troops, just as Deathscythe had effortlessly trampled a good percentage of the shanty town into the dirt. But finally they stopped a few meters away from the command tent. The cockpit of the ominous dark Gundam opened and a slim figure dressed in a black and red skintight flight suit dropped silently to the ground. 

Wiser and more experienced officers did their best to fade into the background as their commanding officer waited for the Gundam pilot with poorly concealed arrogance, mixed with a touch of anxiety. 

"Captain... Dumfrey," Duo said in an ominous purr, his braid twitching from side to side like the tail of an angry leopard. "You described the target as 'a confirmed staging area for terrorist activity' and a 'Category 2 threat'. Care to explain the discrepancy between your description and that camp of miserable, half-starved squatters?" 

In a smug voice, the captain started on his explanation, citing evidence of supposedly suspicious crates and heavy machinery inside the camp. 

After about a minute, Duo said very simply, "Bullshit." 

As Dumfrey blustered in nervous outrage, the Deathscythe pilot said in a dangerously even voice, "You were ordered to move the squatters into one of the internment camps, but you botched it, didn't you? How many of your men did you lose?" 

"I don't know what you're...." 

"Judging from appearences, I'd say that your losses were pretty heavy. After that first incident, you were probably too scared to try again. But since you didn't want to admit to HQ that you were incapable of handling the job, you deliberately misidentified the target as a high-threat terrorist camp...." 

"It was!" 

"A group of irate, panicked refugees armed with clubs, rocks and knives does not qualify as a Category 2 threat!" 

"The number of people involved...." 

"Poorly armed and even more poorly organized! It would have been easy to handle this situation with basic riot gear, stun batons and a few cattle prods, to say nothing of the firepower I know you have. A herd of cattle probably would have been more dangerous!" 

"But...." 

Duo cut him short with a violet-eyed glare and continued, "But falsifying a report wasn't your only mistake. Didn't you realize that your lack of decisive action gave those refugees the opportunity to contact the underground media, who naturally jumped at the chance to gather evidence of another Council 'atrocity'?" He turned his head slightly and snapped, "Lieutenant Macarn!" 

A Mobile Suit stepped forward, carrying a mangled jeep, and dumped the vehicle remains on the ground right in front of the command tent. Inside the twisted wreckage, three mangled corpses could clearly be seen. 

"Is that all?" Duo growled. 

"Yes, sir. We swept the area twice. No other unauthorized persons or transmissions were detected." 

The Deathscythe pilot nodded curtly, then turned his attention back to the unfortunate Captain Dumfrey, who was now beginning to realize just how much trouble he was in. 

Duo stalked forward until he was only inches away from Dumfrey and hissed malevolently, "One, you screwed up a simple removal operation. Two, you lied and grossly exaggerated the potential threat of this camp. Three, you lolled around waiting for someone else to clean up your mess, giving the resistance the perfect opportunity to gather more ammunition for their propaganda mill. What were you hoping for, Dumfrey? That HQ would order a convenient airstrike that would completely obliterate any evidence of your stupidity and incompetence?" 

The Captain stuttered, "I... I may have made a mistake in assessment... but that's all! You've got no proof of these wild accusations...!" 

Duo smiled viciously as he grabbed a hold of Dumfrey's uniform and easily hoisted the grown man off the ground. 

"I don't *need* proof," the braided pilot purred, his dark violet eyes glittering with excitement and anticipation. 

==================================================================== 

Sitting in Wing's cockpit, Heero had no problem hearing the entire conversation between Dumfrey and Duo. He was perfectly indifferent to Dumfrey's fate. It didn't matter to him if Duo chose to drag the man back to face courtmartial or kill the fool on the spot. At most Duo would get a mild verbal reprimand and a short lecture of proper military protocol. But considering Dumfrey's gross incompetence, the Deathscythe pilot probably wouldn't receive any disciplinary action at all. 

Duo Maxwell was an valuable resource for the Preventers. If the occasional killing of a non-essential soldier or officer made him happy, his superiors simply shrugged their shoulders. The death of a few expendable personnel was a fairly cheap price for keeping the pilot in a good mood. 

While the other mobile suit pilots chatted and made bets among themselves about how long Dumfrey would last, Heero tuned out the unfortunate officer's screams and decided to get a jump on writing his report. Duo had a definite tendency to become extremely hyperactive and sexually aroused after indulging in mayhem and carnage. 

==================================================================== 

[ temporary OZ headquarters ] 

Dorothy soared effortlessly through cyberspace like a raptor on the wing, continuously searching for anomalies or items of interest to pounce upon. Her colleagues in OZ thought she simply had a talent for computers, but they were wrong. 

(I wonder what their reaction would be if they knew I was lab-bred. Or if they knew that my original name was Quatrain Ravenna Winner....) 

She suspected that Treize knew, but she didn't worry about him. The leader of OZ knew how to keep secrets very well. 

(Yes, born in the Winner family labs, from the rare 'QR' gene template, just like the infamous Commander Quatre Raberba Winner. I suppose that would make us siblings of sorts. But I'm a slightly older model, while he could be considered 'state of the art'....) 

The 'QR' gene line had been specifically bred for intelligence and the ability to quickly process large amounts of information. It made both herself and Commander Quatre perfectly suited to the intelligence role in their respective organizations. 

Something caught her attention -- a file in an electronic dropbox. She eyed it suspiciously. Instinct and natural caution told her that there was something strange about this file. She tested it, using little sub-programs to spring any hidden traps or detect any tracers. Finally satisfied, she quickly snatched the file, bounced it around several times to confuse any observers, then finally transferred it to a secure location before examining it. 

The data turned out to be nothing more than a simple video file... but the content was potentially devastating, especially to Treize. No message was attached. There was no need. The images themselves were more than enough. 

She grimaced as she watched Milliard Peacecraft being fucked in the ass by an unidentified Preventer officer as the tall platinum blond diligently sucked the penis of another Preventer. And from all appearances, Milliard was perfectly content -- even eager -- to obey the Preventers' every command. As she watched the male Peacecraft spreading his legs wider and pulling his buttock apart to allow deeper penetration, she wondered how on earth she was going to show the video to Treize. 

(Damn it! And what about Relena?) 

She checked and rechecked the authenticity of the video file. Except for some obvious editing to conceal the identity of the Preventer officers, the video was free from tampering or alteration. So much for an easy way out. 

Treize probably had strong suspicions as to Milliard's fate. The precision of the Preventers' recent raids, combined with the arrest of numerous OZ informants and sympathizers, pointed toward the distinct possibility that the Preventers had extracted a great deal of information from Milliard. Furthermore, her analysis of the battle that had led to the Peacecraft's capture indicated that he had been the Preventers' primary target all along. 

Suspicion was one thing. But having their suspicions so brutally confirmed... to see the proud, stubborn Milliard transformed into an obedient sex slave completely under the Preventers' control was hard enough for her to handle and she only knew Milliard on a detached, professional level. It would be infinitely more difficult for Treize. 

But hiding the video from Treize was not an option. The leader of OZ *had* to know. Treize Khushrenada had to know that he had lost his best friend to the Council, just as he had lost his fiancee Anne nearly a decade ago. Dorothy shook her head as she downloaded the video file onto a disk, then headed for Treize's quarters to break the bad news. 

To Be Continued.....


End file.
